framed on memory lane
by lannistersdebt
Summary: Draco and Hermione receive a Christmas gift a little bit early and one of them finds themselves walking down memory lane.


Written for QLFC Round 7.

Team: Wigtown Wanderers

Beater 1 Prompt: Write about someone having fun.

Additional prompts: (object) newspaper, (object) picture frame

* * *

His mother was many things—smart, sophisticated, prideful yet kind, well dressed, and particularly fond of holidays to name a few. She had always enjoyed making snowmen at the edge of the gardens at the Manor, putting ribbon around the simple wreaths she found out and about when shopping, and occasionally painting landscapes. At some point in the last few years she had added to her repertoire, if the large tome on his desk was any indication. Even though Narcissa was a perfectionist, it looked too good to be a one-off production.

With a slight frown, he picked up the letter that had been on top of the book. He stared at the familiar looping handwriting, following the lines of his and Hermione's names.

_Dearest Draco and Hermione,  
I do apologize for delivering this gift early.  
I didn't want to wait for the holiday, which you'll no doubt understand.  
Let me know what you make of it when you visit. _

_Love,  
Mum_

Hermione would probably kill him if he started to look through it without her but the temptation was too great. She wouldn't be home for a few hours yet and since he was done with classes for the term he had nothing in particular he had to get done. After a quick trip down to the kitchen to refill his firewhiskey, he sat down behind the desk and pulled the book toward him. With a flourish, he opened it and immediately began to read.

There were captions below every photo, generally just listing the date, location, and photographer if it were somebody besides a family member, but some went into greater detail. Programs from concerts and plays, certificates of achievements, and little stickers and designs all dotted the pages around the photos. Somehow, Narcissa had managed to make it all come together in a beautiful way. His own life was mixed together evenly with Hermione's and as he bent over one photo of a young girl with bushy hair sitting cross legged on the floor, a pile of books in her arms and a smile on her face, he admired the way the muggle photos complimented the wizarding ones. His chaos, balanced by his wife's order.

He didn't spend too much time on the photos from their early childhood days—there'd be plenty of time to relive those together later. Right now he wanted to see what his mother had put together from their days after childhood and school—those times would have been easy. Adult life would be harder for her to manage to memorialize—or so he thought. He couldn't help but grin at the page open in front of him now. There was a photo of the front of the restaurant they'd eaten at on their first date and a wine label for Melodious Moscato, the brand Hermione loved best. Painted around the label was a bottle and two glasses.

The fond memories of that evening came back to him as smoothly as the wine they had shared.

...

"You know more about my life than I do about yours right now." She took a sip of her wine and waited until she set the glass down to say anything else. "So, let's talk about you."

"Ooh, my favorite subject." Her lips twitched at that as she tried to hold back a smile. "What would you like to know?"

"Anything," she said, leaning forward slightly. So he settled back against the couch and talked more than he had in months, telling her everything.

He told her how his parents fought after the war was over, neither particularly caring to try to hide it. Day or night they would scream at each other and, occasionally, it went further than that—like it had during his childhood. He mentioned how he'd known for years that they were too different, too broken perhaps, to make a marriage work; there was no love there, only duty. Through their trials in front of the Wizengamot, they presented a united front. When it was over and Lucius was sentenced with five years in Azkaban, they let their pretenses fall. Narcissa served her sentence of a year of community service by helping to rebuild Hogwarts and volunteering at St. Mungo's.

They'd inched closer through the discussion so their legs touched and as Draco trailed off he felt Hermione's hand on his. In a futile attempt to ignore the sparks her touch set off, he glanced toward the fireplace and the glint of silver shining from the picture frames above the mantle. But she was a flame and he a moth, and it was only a matter of moments before he was looking at her often fierce brown eyes, warm and soft from either the alcohol or compassion. Closer… Closer…and he hesitated for a moment because this was Hermione Granger and you only get one chance at your first kiss with someone.

"Draco?" Her voice was so quiet he may not have heard it if he was farther away. "What's wrong?"

He looked away again quickly but stayed where he was, almost afraid to move. "You're sure you don't mind if I kiss you?"

She laughed, more a caress against his cheek than a sound, and leaned forward. She hadn't let him finish talking, hadn't found out where he disappeared to after Harry got him off at his trial, but it didn't matter. All that mattered in that moment was them, the warmth flowing through them from their drinks and each other's touch, and as Draco gently brushed her lips with his own, Hermione wondered why she hadn't said yes to a date with him sooner.

…

Draco flipped through a few more pages with quiet amusement, chuckling occasionally at some of the more amusing photos. Within frames of painted snowflakes and frosted evergreen trees were a couple snapshots from their first Christmas together and in both they were trying—and failing—to decorate the tree. Hermione had an ornament stuck in her hair and Draco had somehow managed to get tinsel wound around himself. He still wasn't entirely sure _how _that happened…or how his mother's artwork complimented the photos on each page in a way that a frame from a store never could.

There were pictures from holidays and date nights, everyday life, and the night that Draco proposed. Narcissa had included _Daily Prophet_ clippings on those pages as well and Draco ran his hand over them fondly now. He hadn't been so keen on the newspaper at the time, but he had renewed his subscription to appease Hermione. She'd been so excited to have a few articles published that year and threatened to flood him with owls if they didn't have their own copies anymore because she was tired of having to go out and find another one that wasn't ruined by food, oily fingers, or grime.

Little did she know that someone else was keeping all of them and now here they were, preserved and looking every bit the treasure they were.

Other treasures were sure to be scattered throughout the book but as Draco flipped to another spread—this one featuring the celebration Hermione had thrown the night he was made Head of Slytherin—he decided he'd had enough of the fun alone. The walk down memory lane would be even better with his wife there with him, her arms around his neck as they were in the photo of the two of them looking back up at him from the page.


End file.
